


It's All Fun and Games Until

by Tejoxys



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Character(s) Lashing Out, Consensual Violence, Eye Trauma, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, M/M, Non-Consensual Violence, Self-Harm, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tejoxys/pseuds/Tejoxys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OTP angst prompt: "one of them blinds the other."</p><p>I wrote the first half, couldn't stand leaving them like that, and tried to fix it. Almost definitely not what it looks like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was all building up to something. It had to be. All the dancing around each other, all the vicious fights that turned into play-fights and then into barely-trying-excuses-to-touch-fights. First they shared secrets without meaning to, spitting harsh words at each other, each mindreading in a different way. Then the invasive give and take began to feel natural, and the secrets flowed more easily. When other people started asking what was going on, Jack knew he was in trouble.

Because even as he’d found relief in the crest and fall of chemicals when Pitch fed on his fears—even as Pitch learned to open up and laugh when Jack pushed all the emotional buttons he could reach—through everything, all Jack felt was more uncertain.

Pitch, on the other hand, seemed more sure of himself every time they met.

Last time, they’d ended up practically in each other’s laps… Jack’s face burned just thinking about it. Pitch looked so cute in those lucid moments when he knew what he wanted, all shining eyes and quicksilver bursts of movement that made Jack’s heart leap. It almost hurt to know he brought another person so much joy. It _did_ hurt to hold himself back from touching as intimately as he wanted to, lately. How long until one of them snapped and did something that couldn’t be swept under the rug? Not long.

No, not long, and Jack knew he wouldn’t be the one to do it. He couldn’t. For reasons upon reasons that surely traced back to centuries of never being seen or heard or felt, voiceless, ineffectual, closed down, he just… couldn’t. He could only wait. And second-guess how much he really wanted what was coming. And wait some more. If the suspense was painful, the sense of helplessness was killing him.

Jack wasn’t familiar with the unholy what-ifs that often come along with wanting someone, all those voices that make the stakes seem so much higher than they are. Under threat of an eternity of consequences, he couldn’t shut them off. This was Pitch’s territory—and of course Pitch knew. He had to know. He was probably planning to soundly dismiss all of it when the time came. Or else play with it.

This might be the one thing they shared that Pitch never talked about, and Jack couldn’t laugh about.

 

* * *

 

A spectacular sunset lifted Jack’s spirits on his way to the lair the next evening. It wasn’t as if he was trapped. He could keep flying into that neon sky until it turned to night, if he felt like it. He was completely free, and Pitch was free, and they could do whatever they wanted, if they wanted the same things. And they did, right? What was he so scared of, anyway? Maybe talking would help. They should just talk it out. Maybe today? 

Pitch met him aboveground with a shout, summoning his scythe before Jack’s feet touched down. It was funny how the sight of that weapon had become as good as a dog’s play bow. Jack fell easily into step, laughing and taunting.

Maybe tomorrow… 

That was the problem. Every time he saw Pitch, the uncertainty locked itself into a steely-cold little knot inside his chest, and not even Pitch’s shameless prying could unlock it.

They’d been going at it for an hour when it happened.

They were underground again. Jack unwisely attempted a frontal assault, and Pitch sent him skimming like a pebble over water. Such moments had played out many times before—the pattern was so well-established, it was almost like calling a time-out. The stones felt hot under Jack’s feet, even as his ice raced to keep up. His back hit the wall. He choked around the shock to his ribcage and looked up.

Pitch was there, _right_ there, his own laughter fading behind a smile turned softer than before. Those dangerous eyes were lowered. He brushed the hair back from Jack’s face and leaned in.

Little details sharpened. The tickle of hair. The wall at his back, the wall of Pitch’s body before him, and he didn’t know which he most wanted to press himself against. A single breath puffing from both of their mouths as they delayed eye contact just a little longer. And he didn’t know, he just didn’t know what that contact would do to him. Pitch’s hands cradled his face so gently. Both of them had forgotten that Jack held a loaded weapon, tipped toward Pitch’s skull.

Both felt the faintest brush of lips.

All Jack understood was the sound of his own gasp, and an explosion. 

The wall kept him upright. Spots clearing from his eyes, he looked around wildly for Pitch, blinking through the haze of ice dust. His own voice sounded close inside his head from the trauma to his eardrums.

“Pitch?” 

He tried to listen for Pitch’s voice. When they sparred, when Pitch got hurt, he always carried on like the world was ending. Silence was a good sign, right? 

There he was—on the floor in a defensive crouch, both arms hiding his face, no scythe. Jack’s heart eased. “Pitch. You okay?”

When he didn’t answer right away, Jack dropped the staff to kneel by his side. Pitch was rigid, breathing shallowly. 

“Okay, how bad is it?” There was still no response. Jack nudged him. “Hey, can you hear me? Pitch!”

Pitch stirred. “Jack. I’m… ah. W-what?” He lowered his arms stiffly.

Jack wasn’t prepared for what was behind them. He screamed and scrambled back—he couldn’t help it. _My ice did this, I fucking did th-_ Pitch’s fumbling hands caught Jack’s sleeves. 

“Jack, don’t you dare leave!”

“I’m not! I’m sorry. Oh god, I’m sorry!” Pitch’s grip slackened in response. Jack crept closer against the hammering of his heart to smooth his hands over Pitch’s shoulders. The way Pitch huddled into his arms like he was seeking shelter squeezed something inside him. “They’ll heal, though, right? It’ll be okay. Does it—I mean, how bad does it hurt?”

“We’ll find out any minute now, I expect.”

“It was an accident. You know it was an accident, don’t you?”

Pitch’s voice was low, almost amused. “Oh, yes. Impeccable instincts. Right for the eyes, I’m proud of you.” Jack almost smiled—and Pitch finished, “I thought you wanted it.” 

Jack swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you ask?” 

“Why didn’t you say no?” 

“I don’t know. I was scared. You _know_ how scared I was.”

“Jack, you’re always scared. I never expected you’d react like _that_. Did it ever occur to you that I was…” Pitch gathered himself for a word that clearly took effort. The shock was wearing off. “ _N-nervous,_ too? I thought we understood each other.” He let his head fall against Jack’s chest. “I was beginning to trust you.”

“ _Trust-_? Why the hell would you do that? Fuck, you want to talk about understanding—”

“Why couldn’t you just say no? You always could… before…” Pitch’s voice died out in pained gasps.

“ _Either_ of us could’ve said _anything_ at any time! Damn it, Pitch!” Jack struggled to control the inappropriate laughter bubbling up. “Listen, I’m freaked-out enough right now. I didn’t mean to do this. Just feed yourself, please, just heal, and we’ll talk about everything. Okay? Like we should have done. Please, Pitch.”

The hammering in his chest ebbed and flowed and made him dizzy as Pitch fed, as it always did, and it was a sick sort of dizzy because this time was real. When was the last time it had felt this real? Pitch flickered in and out of solid form, trying to shake off his injury. Jack held onto his shivering friend when he could, and monitored his thoughts patiently. He had to maintain a healthy flow. He mustn’t become too angry or too optimistic just yet.

Was the word ‘friend’ too optimistic now? Had it always been?

Pitch’s voice rasped out from somewhere deep. _“It’s not going away.”_

He shoved Jack hard and vanished into shadow. Jack lurched after him too late. “Pitch!”

 

* * *

 

Toothiana caught up to Jack some time later, in the night sky above a sprawling cemetery. The wildness in his eyes went unnoticed, at first. She barreled into him, hugging fiercely.

“Jack! Thank goodness you’re safe. What did he do to you? Tell me everything.”

“What? No! I mean, I’m fine. Hang on a second.” Jack put an arm’s distance between them and tried to catch his breath. “Are you talking about Pitch? Do you know where he is?”

“Yes, he came to the Pole asking for Sandy—Jack, wait!”

 

* * *

  

North was sitting in conference with Bunnymund when Jack blew in. They stood as one and advanced on him, relief in their faces. Toothiana landed seconds later and ran to his side. Jack shrank back from all of their offered hands.

“Where’s Pitch?”

The others stopped, exchanging glances. “Not to worry,” said North. “It is all under control. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Oh my god. You haven’t hurt him, have you?”

“No,” said Toothiana with a pointed look at Bunny. “We decided to hold off until we found you. Besides,” she added, “he’s not a threat to anyone right now.”

“What the hell did he do to you?” interjected Bunny. “That was some shot you gave him! I’ll give him twice that, if he-” 

Toothiana put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Bunny! I already asked, and he didn’t want to talk about it. We’ll have to wait to get the whole story, if he wants to tell us at all.” 

“Whoa, whoa!” Jack twitched her hand away. “It’s personal, okay? Please, where is he? I really need to talk to him. Oh—Sandy!”

Jack pushed through the others to meet Sandy coming out from a back hallway. The usual snowflake appeared over Sandy’s head—but his face was grave. He bobbed right up to Jack’s eye level and held up his hands in an unmistakable gesture: _Stop._

“Sandy, what-? Were you with Pitch? What’s going on?” Jack tried to lean around Sandy to see if Pitch was skulking somewhere behind him. Sandy drifted close enough to put his hands on the sides of Jack’s face, gently forcing eye contact. He shook his head. 

Jack felt something heavy growing in the hollow of his throat. “Are you… saying I can’t go see him?” 

Sandy nodded. Ever so gently, he pressed his hands to Jack’s chest and backed him away from the hallway entrance, worried eyes saying he was sorry. Jack couldn’t read the flashing sand symbols, but the others’ reactions were enough. 

“That bad? Interesting,” said North speculatively. 

“Well, it was point-blank.” This from Tooth. Bunny actually gave a low whistle.

“Will someone…” Jack’s voice failed. He tried again. “Will someone please just tell me what’s happening?”

Toothiana answered. “Oh, Jack, I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t read sandspeech yet. He said Pitch is asleep for now, but he had to use an awful lot of sand, so we’d better not risk spooking him, or he might run before he’s stable. Um… his eyes are still gone. We won’t know the prognosis until his face thaws completely. You must’ve really caught him off-guard.”

Many of her words lost their shape before they reached him, but Jack understood one thing: Pitch had run from him. Pitch had run from him to them—to _Sandy,_ the person he’d always feared the most. _He’s afraid of me._

_I was beginning to trust you._

There was a ringing in Jack’s ears. Someone was asking him again what had happened, more carefully this time.

“I got scared,” he heard himself say. “I didn’t mean it.”

And he heard, “Huh, that’s just what Pitch does. He had it coming.”

And he heard, “We should have intervened earlier, Jackie. Forgive us.”

And he heard, “It’s okay, Jack. We’re all with you.”

He was still searching for words when the first tears slipped out. None of them had seen him cry since Sandy’s memorial service years ago. Pitch nearly had, a few times.

Now, because of Jack, he might never see anything again.

Jack couldn’t force his voice to shape, _I have to get out of here._ He just left, stumbling through a thicket of eavesdropping elves, back out through the window Tooth hadn’t paused to close.


	2. Chapter 2

Months later, Jack lay curled on a stone overlook high on a mountain, letting the sunset’s last rays stab into his eyes. Now and then, he shuddered and pulled his limbs in tighter. That was the most he’d moved in hours. Staring at the sun was one of those little things no one could stop him from doing, even if they knew. The damage never stuck, anyway.

The staff lay in a thicket somewhere higher up the mountain, where he’d thrown it coming in. It was going to be a battle to pick it up again. He was tired of reliving the way it had jumped in his hands, tired of fighting the urge to snap it.

He knew Pitch had recovered enough to leave the Pole. No one told him more than that, and he didn’t ask. A few times, out alone at night, he’d spotted a distinctive, slender shadow in the corner of his eye. It always disappeared when he turned to look.

Maybe it would help to grieve. That’s what people were supposed to do when something awful happened, right? But it wasn’t his pain to cry over, was it? He shouldn’t have the first time. A few weeks after leaving the Pole, he’d tried again anyway, and couldn’t. Long-congealed emotions that Pitch had once dragged out of him, and then kept flowing the way a leech licks anticoagulants into a bite, had dried up. No one forced him to face anything now.

Maybe that was what he’d wanted all along. Just… not like this.

Why did it have to end like that? Hadn’t they both been healing?

The sun winked out below the horizon. Jack’s vision was so speckled that he nearly missed it. He flexed life back into his empty hands and blinked, searching for the strength to get up for a night of work.

Someone picked up the staff.

Jack tensed reflexively, then read who it was and settled down to wait. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to break it himself, after all.

He closed his eyes through the brief swooping sensation of the staff traveling through dimensions he couldn’t reach, and back to the waking world. Deliberate footsteps followed. They could only be deliberate, or he wouldn’t have been allowed to hear them. They stopped within kicking distance of his head.

“Well?” Jack said when nothing happened. “Aren’t you going to do it?”

He bit his lip at Pitch’s soft indoor voice. “What for? You’re doing a fine job punishing yourself. I don’t need to lift a finger.”

Jack didn’t know what to say to that; all of his gut responses were angry. Pitch gave him five long seconds before he leaned over from above and dropped the staff. It clattered on the rocks in front of Jack’s face. Jack sat up so fast his hood slipped off.

“Good to know you’re still a jerk,” he said tightly, shrugging away from Pitch.

“Too scared to even look at me, now?”

“I’m not scared!” Jack snapped. He fumbled for his hood—wait. Yes. He counted breaths and let his hands fall.

Pitch settled to the ground beside him. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Then what on earth are you here for?”

“To tell you it’s all right. Ah… and that I want you to stop doing this.”

How could it be all right? Did that mean-? Jack turned to look.

“Oh,” he said, his heart sinking again as quickly as it had risen. “So it is permanent.” At least the skin had smoothed over nicely—as far as Jack could tell when his own eyesight was darkly crawling—and there weren’t any more glittering, frosted bone fragments. Or chunks of blood. His insides lurched.

Pitch smiled below the shadowy holes in his face. “Not quite. I could rebuild myself completely, and make new ones in the process—like Sandy, you know. It wouldn’t be hard to persuade someone to obliterate the rest of me. But, well. It’s a feat beyond me in my weakened state, and as _some_ people still refuse to share the wealth…”

“Pitch, don’t.”

Incredibly, Pitch shut up. With no glimmering gold to animate his face, he looked like a graveyard statue. Monochromatic. Lifeless. His pale image swam in the growing night. Jack tucked his hands deep into his pockets and dropped his aching eyes to the ground, instead.

“How’d you even know I wasn’t looking at you?” he said finally.

“Please. I have more senses at my disposal than you realize,” Pitch said. “Sight is less important to those working in the dark, anyway. It hasn’t hurt my reputation. Can’t you imagine how unsettling it is to watch a smile appear in the shadows with no eyes above it? Of course, if I really wish to see something—here, look.”

Jack’s eyes still weren’t tracking well, but he saw the dark swirl come up from Pitch’s hand. It wasn’t large, but it had a pair of glowing red eyes. And a ropelike tail, or three.

“What the hell is that?”

“A little get-well present from the Sandman that he doesn’t know he gave,” Pitch said, playing the nightmare rat from hand to hand. He grinned at Jack.

“Only you would make a seeing-eye plague rat.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know.” Jack rubbed his eyes. “I mean. Sandy probably wouldn’t mind, if you just asked him. He helped you out when you really needed it, right?”

“Mm. Good people will do that, when they think they have no choice.” Pitch paused. “And I don’t easily ask for anything, when I have a choice. Ah. Which I should have done. It’s all right, Jack,” he murmured in response to Jack’s sudden sniffle.

“No, it’s not,” Jack said thickly. This would be a ridiculous time to start crying.

“So it took me some time to approach you again. Can you blame me? But really, Jack, I tried to kill you once. On purpose. Don’t you remember that?”

“You can’t be- You don’t mean we’re even now, or something.”

“Oh, Jack.” Pitch tilted his head, which looked very strange without the accompanying birdlike blink. “You’re new to immortality, but not that new. Violence happens. We’re not like other people.”

Jack didn’t know whether Pitch meant all immortals, or the two of them, in particular. He didn’t want to know, just now.

“Stop being nice to me,” he managed, just before the tears fell. He choked off all the sound he could, curling in on himself, aware that his face was probably getting that awful crying blush. Not that Pitch could see it. Although the nightmare rat was almost definitely staring at him through the cage of Pitch’s fingers.

He flinched as those fingers brushed his cheeks. They moved up, seeking Jack’s eyes. He closed them, shuddering into the touch. Pitch’s thumbs carefully stroked away the tears as they came, sticking slightly in Jack’s eyelashes as ice filmed over his fingertips. Perhaps now, surely now the other shoe would drop, soon would come the ugly pressure and the stars would burst behind Jack’s eyelids—

“Oh, my dear,” came Pitch’s whisper. “We truly mistook intimacy for trust, didn’t we?”

“S-speak,” Jack tried. His throat didn’t want to open. “Speak for your damn self,” he whispered back.

Pitch’s arms slid around him, pulling him close. Gritty fur tickled the side of his neck—the nightmare rat had come to visit. Jack gave in and wept.

He didn’t protest when Pitch’s shadows rose around them and pulled them through to somewhere else, resigned to whatever happened to him now. But it was only the base of a tree, still within sight of the ledge. Pitch leaned back on the trunk and arranged Jack crosswise in his lap. He didn’t bother with words of comfort, only buried his face in Jack’s hair and hugged as much of him as he could fit into his arms, squeezing each time Jack broke under a fresh wave of tears.

They spoke only once. Jack, floundering in misery, thought to offer, “Feed on me?”

“Not anymore,” Pitch said.

 

* * *

 

It was fully dark when Jack could breathe freely again. His whole face stung. Pitch softened his hold to let Jack scrub his face with his sleeves.

“Are you well?” Pitch asked quietly.

“I’m a little better,” Jack said. He sniffed. “None of this helps you, though.”

“I’m over it, I told you. I toyed with a power infamous for exploding under pressure. I paid for it.”

“But they were so beautiful.” Jack sighed and leaned his head against Pitch’s chest. “I’m sorry. I’m a horrible person for thinking about it like that.”

“Mm. Horrible,” Pitch echoed. He shifted Jack deeper into the hollow of his body, until the sensitive skin of Jack’s hip met unexpected heat.

Jack’s eyes shot open.

“Oh,” he said faintly. He wasn’t sure exactly whose heartbeat he felt hammering against his ribs, all of a sudden. Both of theirs, probably. He nudged experimentally with his hip, and felt electricity roll up his spine as Pitch’s whole body shifted lazily, seeking more contact.

“Oh. Okay, yeah,” Jack said. “I think you just might be a horrible person, too. That’s good.”

Pitch broke off nosing for spots to kiss along Jack’s hairline, smiling. “I can’t control my feelings, Jack. Only my actions, and I insist you hold me accountable for those.”

“I still don’t think you should forgive me.”

“It’s mutual.”

Jack turned his face up shyly. “I think I really want that kiss now.”

“You think?”

“I… yeah. Please.”

Pitch’s hands were as expressive as his eyes used to be. Jack closed his eyes to appreciate them on his face once more, testing, gliding under his jaw, cradling the back of his head. One or two nervous fingers dared to trace the shape of Jack’s mouth.

That was all, and at the brush of Pitch’s cheek against his own, Jack knew what the murmur in his ear was going to say.

“Jack. Forgive me if I leave it to you to initiate, this time?”

 _So you’re still scared of me, too,_ Jack didn’t say. “Yeah. Of course. I always wanted to, I just didn’t know how.”

Pitch’s mouth dropped open. “ _Oh,_ ” he said, packing an impressive array of meaning into one syllable. “Jack, there was so much I misread-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jack sank back in Pitch’s hold far enough to bring their mouths together.

This moment, just like last time, felt like a sudden drop. Like slipping on a wet rock and plunging back into the water. Jack breathed in details—pliant flesh on flesh; a slight cramp in his ribs from sitting sideways for too long; the scent of ice and pine sap. He let the first touch linger, building pressure as Pitch relaxed.

Nothing terrible happened. It was just a kiss. Nice, as kisses can be. Heart-pounding, but that was all. Jack broke contact, blinking, then kissed Pitch again, harder.

There it went, months and months of boundaries, gone. Sheer physical reality crashed over him, warmth and weight, and the rush of wanting more. There was only so much Jack could do from this position, and if Pitch wasn’t going to take charge…

Jack pulled away. Pitch made the smallest noise of disappointment, but caught on quickly and helped Jack reposition himself so they could face each other. Jack pressed as close as he could get, sealing the length of their bodies from collarbone to hip, loving the surge of relief he still got from being solid to someone who wanted him around.

“Just touch me,” he said, a bit late. “I just want to be closer-”

He tried to curl his legs around Pitch’s hips, and skinned his ankles on the tree. He barely noticed. Pitch’s mouth was on his again, strong hands were all over his back, and this was such a good idea, and was that a hint of teeth? Jack nipped in return, and won a very interesting sound. He tried it again on the side of Pitch’s neck—this time Pitch cursed. Jack laughed.

There was a gentle crinkling inside Jack’s eyes as the sun damage reversed itself. He looked around, startled. The night resolved into glossy blue shadows and peacefully drifting snow, which must have started falling as he cried. Pitch’s face had some color, after all, dark flares high on his cheekbones. Pitch was smiling. His joy flowed between them like a current, answering Jack’s.

Overwhelmed, Jack pressed his face into the crook of Pitch’s neck and made them both rest for a moment. For once, instead of teasing the waves higher, he felt for places where the current didn’t run so strong. Pitch’s breathing changed, as if he could feel the breach. Maybe he could; Jack vividly remembered being explored by Pitch’s power. He lifted his mouth to Pitch’s ear.

“There’s something else you want, right? I’m not talking about the obvious.”

“Oh? …Oh. I’m not sure if, ah. It was a while ago.”

Jack rose on his knees and kissed Pitch deeply, moving a hand to splay gentle fingers around Pitch’s throat. “C’mon,” he said as he broke the kiss. “I won’t know what it is unless you say.”

Pitch’s blush had spread across the bridge of his nose. “I want that talk you promised,” he said in a rush. “Please.”

Jack laughed again. One last stray tear escaped; he brought Pitch’s hand up to catch it. “I’d love that! Your place or, uh, right here? I don’t think you want to go back to the Pole.”

“Oh, no, we need somewhere far less public.” Pitch hesitated. “Would you really be all right going home with me? Returning to the place where it happened?”

“Can I be really obnoxious and hold on to you the entire time we’re talking?”

“You’re not. That is, I hope you will.”

“Then let’s go!”

Shadows rose beneath the trees, leaving the snow behind to fall as it would.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A detail I couldn't make fit: the nightmare rat disappeared offscreen because Pitch sent her up the tree to stand guard. This Pitch is very private, and dislikes being stared at during intimate moments - even by something he made. She'll catch up with them later.
> 
> I’ll leave it to you to imagine what happens when someone else wanders by and finds Jack’s staff still lying there.


End file.
